When We Loose Our Way
by BlkDog16
Summary: Story takes place after Season 3: Hearts & Minds. **Spoiler Alert** Ben returns to camp with more wounds than just a gunshot and it's up to Caleb and Anna to save him.


When We Loose Our Way

Missing Scenes from Hearts & Minds

…

Anna held her breath as she watched Caleb tilt his towards the heavens, stretching his arms up over his head. He had been sitting alone and unmoving in front of the fire for over hour and she couldn't help but notice the way the flames highlighted the hollowness of his cheeks. Gone were the soft and rounded edges of the corners of his mouth that wrinkled when he smiled, though one would hardly notice. Caleb didn't smile all that much anymore.

The beard that would have once aided in hiding the signs of malnourishment and fatigue was absent, a lingering reminder of the last "brilliant plan" he and Ben had executed together. From what she could tell he hadn't had a decent meal in days, not since worry had stolen away his appetite.

His arms sank back to his sides and he shifted briefly but gave no indication that he intended on moving. He had kept watch every night this week, waiting for Ben's return. With a sigh she let out the breath she had been holding, watching as it expanded out into the coolness of the night. Deep down she knew she should go to him, but there was nothing to say. Even she had become all too aware of how empty her assurances had become as Ben's absence stretched on.

…

Caleb Brewster sat staring into the belly of a roaring campfire. At first glance it would appear that he was simply mesmerized by the dancing flames. But a closer look revealed facial features etched deep with worry, and brown eyes filled with apprehension. He had returned to camp only to find that his oldest friend was missing. Some of the men told him Ben was seen leaving in plain clothes, and a search of Ben's tent had confirmed it.

Days passed and still Ben did not return. Further questioning of the men had been fruitless; no one else seemed to know that nature or location of Ben's mission, leaving him with no other option but to wait. As the hours turned to days, worry turned into an overwhelming sense of dread. For the first time since the war had begun, he actually considered the thought that he might never see Ben alive again. It nearly broke him.

…

Benjamin Tallmadge stood just within the radius of camp. His lungs burned as they filled with the cold night air; a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from his body. He shivered as a bout of chills overtook him. There was no denying that a fever had set in at some point during his journey, his aching muscles and pounding head made sure of it.

He knew he should keep moving, that he needed to get back to camp. But now as he stood just on the outskirts of it, an overwhelming desire to linger just a little longer came over him. He didn't doubt that they considered him missing by now, but if not he knew at least one person would be worried. Though he did not wish to prolong Caleb's fears any longer there was a part of him couldn't bear the thought of going back just yet.

His mind drifted back to the warm bed, warm meals, and conversations that had nothing to do with sides. They had reminded him of what life had been like before war had stripped him of those simple pleasures. In return his days were filled with espionage, military tactics, battles, and half-truths. So routine had they become that he hadn't even realized how much he missed his former life until he had ended up in the care of Sarah Livingston. But in the end the war had stripped him of that too, and he found himself running back into the arms of the Continental Army.

His thoughts were broken as he suddenly became keenly aware of how very tired he was. Exhaustion swept over him, devouring what little energy he had left. His healing abdomen was throbbing angrily, reminding him of his current state. Looking down he saw that blood had begun to seep through the borrowed shirt he was still wearing, causing him to cringe. The man who had worn the shirt before him had died fighting for what he believed in, his home, his land, and his loved ones. The irony that his blood now stained it for those very same reasons was not lost on him.

He pushed off from the tree he had been leaning against and attempted to muster enough strength to at least make it within enough proximity of camp to gain some attention. 'Just a few more yards' he told himself as he struggled against both the pain and the exhaustion. Before he even made it a few feet he heard the distinct sound of muskets cocking behind him. He closed his eyes with an inward groan; he hadn't even heard anyone approaching.

…

"Halt!" Ordered Sergeant Johnston.

The man currently occupying his sights slowly turned around to face him.

When the stranger found a musket fixed on him, he began to raise his hands in surrender. He couldn't help but notice that the man's right hand hovered quite a bit lower than his left. Unwilling to take the chance that this was all some kind of ploy; that the man was really just trying to close the gap between his hand and an unforeseen weapon, Sergeant Johnston eased his pointer finger onto the trigger of his rifle.

"You keep your hands where I can see them mister," he commanded.

"My name is Major Benjamin Tallmadge," The man replied slowly and carefully.

"Right, well on your knees _major_ ," he retorted.

He was fully aware that a Benjamin Tallmadge had gone missing days ago, but he had no idea what the man looked like. This man could easily be an imposter for all he knew. Then there was the fact that he was not wearing a uniform. He certainly didn't look like a major to him, but he would escort the man back to camp for things to be sorted out there.

Without arguing the man lowered first to his right knee, and then to his left. Even with both knees firmly planted on the ground the man wavered, and appeared to be struggling to stay upright. Sergeant Johnston regarded him carefully, and quickly came to the conclusion that the man was of little safety concern. He had to admit, the man looked to be in terrible condition. Lowering his weapon, he asked.

"Where is your uniform Major?"

"I…" The stranger started, stopping suddenly as he was overcome with a fit of coughing.

One of his privates stepped forward from the shadows. "That's him sir, that's Major Tallmadge. I'm certain of it. He's had that cough ever since he took a fall in the Delaware River. "

Sergeant Johnston looked back down at the man, presumed to be Major Tallmadge. He was now doubled over, his hands pressing firmly against his right side. Kneeling down beside the major he felt his knees sink into the soft earth. Tallmadge's eyes flickered briefly in his direction, but that was the only acknowledgement he was afforded. It appeared to Sgt. Johnston that Major Tallmadge was getting worse.

Gently he pulled the major's hand away from his side, and took note of the dried bloodstain on his jacket. Investigating further he found a matching fresh bloodstain beneath the jacket. The crimson stain was growing steadily in the lower right corner of major's shirt. Aside from that, the heat the man's body was giving off was so tremendous that he could feel it radiating through the thick fabric.

"He's injured," He told the men flatly. "Let's get him back to camp."

….

Caleb turned to look up from the fire just as the night patrol unit returned to camp. Sandwiched between two of the guards was a man donned in civilian clothing; his arms were stretched across their shoulders. By all appearances he looked as if he were unconscious. Squinting into the night Caleb looked harder, he swore he recognized that form. Taking off at a dead sprint he ran towards them, his leather duster twisting up behind him. Coming to skidding to a halt in front of the unit rocks and dirt flew up from beneath his boots.

"Ben!" He cried out.

The figure stirred barely lifting his head. His eyes were glazed with pain and fever, and they clouded with confusion as he searched for the source of the voice that had called his name. Caleb took a step closer, "Tall-boy?" he said gently. Blue eyes softened with recognition as they came to rest on Caleb. "Caleb" he whispered, and proceeded to struggle against the grasp of the men holding him up. They cautiously removed their hold, and he took a shaky step towards his friend before faltering.

Caleb reached out and grabbed him by the forearms, looking him up and down. His eyes roamed over the exhausted features of his best friends face, then down the rest of his body, finally coming to a rest on the blood stained jacket. "Jesus Ben, what the hell happened?" He asked. Ben started to say something, but stopped abruptly. Pitching forward he stumbled into Caleb's shoulder with a whimper of pain.

Caleb stumbled back at the unexpected weight before pulling Ben tighter into him. He pivoted to Ben's side, grasping ahold of his arm and throwing it over his shoulder. "Easy there Benny. Let's get you to the doctor," Caleb said.

…

Anna hiked up the throws of her long blue dress as she crossed the distance between her tent and the medical tents. Dawn had just begun to sweep over camp. Sunlight trickled in between the trees and the birds had begun their melody. She paused and breathed in deep, taking a moment to take it all in. She was well aware that once she reached the medical bay the quiet would be shattered with the cries of the sick and wounded. Looking over the peaceful camp that would soon be bustling she thought back to how she found herself in this current predicament.

Caleb had awoken her two days ago in the dead of night. He had brought with him news of Ben's return. She had been elated of course, but it had been short lived. The fever he returned with quickly overtook him, leaving him devastatingly weak. Caleb of course refused to surrender any amount of hope. He also refused to leave Ben's side, and no one had dared to ask otherwise of him. Not even Washington himself; he drafted no new orders for Caleb, instead opting to leave him to stand guard over his ailing friend.

Caleb was courteous enough with the medical staff at first, balancing between helping when needed and trying to remain out of the way when not. But as Ben continued to show little improvement and Caleb acquired less and less sleep, patience wore thin on both sides. It had all come to a climactic head when Caleb accused a nurse of being too heavy handed while changing Ben's dressings. A sarcastic comment from Caleb was repaid with one laced with contempt, and soon a screaming match ensued. The whole ordeal ended with the nurse throwing her hands in the air and storming out of the tent.

Since that incident, she had assumed the nursing responsibilities without even being asked, although she had no doubt Caleb would have done so himself if she hadn't. On one hand she relished in her newfound responsibilities, caring for Ben had offered her a sense of usefulness once again. On the other hand she was at the forefront of his slow progress, and also bore direct witness to the raw pain another friend, as he clung desperately to what little hope remained. She had to admit; there were times when it all felt like too much.

…

His first waking sensation was a cool cloth to his brow and a hand so gentle that it could only be that of a woman. He shuttered as remembered the last time he had awoke to a woman's touch. The memory of that night he and Sarah shared swelled up inside of him and he bit back a sob so hard that it came out as strangled moan instead. The hand removed itself from his forehead and gently stroked his hair; similar to the way his mother used to comfort him when he was distressed as a child.

He let out a soft sigh. He knew he should open his eyes and at the very least thank this kind person but he was so very tired. It was as if his entire body felt the weight of everything that had transpired over the last few days and it was slowly crushing him. He knew he would have to face it when he awoke. General Washington would want a detailed field report of that he was certain. And then there was Caleb.

He would want answers too, but he didn't know that he would ever be able to give them. How do you explain the complexity of going from executioner, to captive, to wounded, to lover, and finally to the enemy all in a matter of days? Each title had blurred into the next and left gaping wounds that could not be seen with the naked eye.

Here in the medical tent it was all so incredibly simple. He was Major Tallmadge, a wounded soldier. He was either awake or he wasn't, in pain or not, healing or getting worse. He only wanted to cling to that simplicity a little while longer, and so he allowed himself to sink back into unconsciousness.

…

Caleb watched intently as Ben's face relaxed at Anna's touch. He had been so certain that he was going to come around once and for all, but now his best friend's features had gone slack once more.

"Come on you stubborn bastard." Caleb growled. "Wake up already!"

Ben responded only with heavy breathing.

Anna's eyes looked up and caught his own. Her lips were pursed with worry and her eyes were fearful yet her words were contrary.

"Don't worry Caleb, he'll come 'round when he's ready." She tried reassuringly.

Caleb only nodded.

His fists balled up in frustration and his eyes flickered briefly towards the door of the tent. His breath caught in his chest and for a second he felt like bolting. He could no longer deny the uneasy feeling that had settled deep within him over the past few days. There was something more than just a fever waging war on his friend, he was sure of it. And as time stretched on he couldn't bare the thought of continuing to simply stand by, watching Ben slowly loose the battle.

…

Anna's prediction had proved to be right however, and a few days later Ben's fever lifted. Though he may have come around slowly, once the fever was gone it became nearly impossible to keep him in bed. Against the doctors recommendation he left the medical bay, quickly resuming normal activities, but something was different. He was quiet, withdrawn, and refused to speak of the events leading up to his return. Perhaps most telling was his lack of reaction to Anna's newfound presence at camp. If it confounded him at all he certainly didn't show it, he hadn't even asked for an explanation.

As for Anna she once again resumed her trench digging responsibilities. She dug the shovel deeper into the solid earth with a satisfying blow. It was slow going, but it helped dull the painful memories of her last days in Setauket and left her too exhausted to think back on all that had transpired come nightfall. Standing to stretch her back she closed her eyes and tilted her face up to take in the warmth of the sun. She hoped that throwing himself back into work was working the same for Ben as it was for her.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of flaps striking the side of a tent with ferocity. She turned just in time to see Ben rushing from Washington's tent with Caleb trailing close behind him. His face was ashen and he looked as though he might be sick. Caleb reached out taking ahold of his arm but Ben stripped it away sharply. Caleb said something that she could not hear and Ben stopped, pausing before turning to face him. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw was set. It was menacing, the look that flashed across his face and it caused Caleb to step back, instinctually raising his hands.

The look disappeared from Ben's face as quickly as it had come on and was replaced with one of forced neutrality. She watched as her childhood friend, who had always worn his emotions on his sleeve, quickly became unreadable. Caleb took a step forward again, concern washing over his own features but Ben held up a dismissive hand. He shook his head "no" to an unasked question and abruptly turned and walked away, leaving Caleb frozen in place.

…

Caleb's shoulders slumped as his hands dropped to his sides. The uneasy feeling he had felt throughout Ben's illness was threatening to bubble over. It had gone dormant once Ben had awoke, and he had been lulled by the notion that with Ben returning to normal activities it would mean things had gone back to normal with him too. Even he could see the foolishness in that belief now. He cursed himself for being so stupid as he watched the retreating form of his best friend disappear into his tent.

He turned away just as the flaps fell closed and came face to face with Anna Strong. Her face was covered in dirt and her hair fell along her neckline revealing the delicacy of her collarbone. She looked worn, but as her eyes met his he saw that they held in them the same telling fear as his.

"What was that about?" Anna asked while wiping an arm across her brow.

"I don't know," Caleb responded, shaking his head in frustration.

Dusk was rapidly descending across camp. All around them campfires were beginning to be lit and tents illuminated against the pink and purple sky, all except one that is. Ben's remained forbiddingly unlit. Determination set into Caleb's features as he stared intently at the dark tent.

"But I aim to find out." He declared, turning on his heel and walking in the opposite direction.

…

As the tent flaps closed behind him Ben kicked the chair out from under his desk, chocking back a sob as hot tears burned at the corners of his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood there refusing to let a single tear fall. 'What was wrong with him?' He silently asked. How many other times had he taken a life and never once had he been overcome like this. But those lives had been different. They had been lost in battle, where the rules of engagement were followed, and the men he killed would have most likely killed him had they gotten the opportunity to do so first.

Reverend Worthington had been unarmed, though his hands were not unstained with blood. His actions too had lead to the loss of lives, some of them being his very own men. Yet his intentions had been to save lives, by ending the war, even if it came at the cost of British victory. Surrounded by death and sickness day in and day out, Reverend Worthington had done only what he thought was best, and for that he paid the ultimate price. Ben had ensured that, and now it haunted him.

Sitting at the edge of his cot he removed his boots one by one. He considered removing his uniform too, but ultimately decided against it. He didn't have the strength or the energy. He knew he would have to face Washington tomorrow, and even the thought of it sapped him of the little he had left. Swinging his feet up on the end of the cot he lay down, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. He hoped that for once the nightmares would leave him in peace tonight.

…

Caleb stood a few yards out from Ben's quarters. Staring at the entrance he exhaled sharply before making his way towards the tent. He flung back the tent flaps and paused waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. As his vision cleared he could see Ben curled up on his cot with his back to the door. He attempted to rise, but stopped. Holding his side, he let out an agonizing hiss. Caleb watched carefully without moving as Ben struggled to recover.

When Ben finally managed to slow his breathing he gingerly propped himself up on one elbow, twisting his upper body ever so slightly towards the entrance of the tent. His eyes squinted as he attempted to focus on the intruder. It was in that moment while caught of guard; Caleb saw for the first time how truly awful he looked. He opened his mouth to say something about it but Ben cut him off.

"Caleb. What are you doing?" He demanded to know.

"Getting you out of here." Caleb replied.

He cupped his hand beneath Ben's right forearm and carefully pulled him to a seated position before he could reply. Spying Ben's boots at the end of the bed he grabbed ahold of them too and dropped them at his feet.

"I don't have time for this." Ben protested.

Caleb ignored the protest and promptly set about putting Ben's boots on their corresponding feet.

"I'm tired." Ben continued. "Please, just let me sleep," the last half of his sentence coming out as more of a plea.

"I know ya are Benny-boy." Caleb responded gently.

He looked up from where he was kneeling and took in the dark circles beneath his friend's eyes; the hollowness of his gaze was startling. He smiled sadly.

"It'll only be for a little bit," he promised.

Ben's only reply was the smallest of nods; so slight Caleb nearly missed it.

"Great!" He replied. Grasping his bicep he gently tugged Ben to his feet.

…

Caleb led him to a fire just outside of camp. It was far enough away from prying eyes and any eavesdropping but close enough not to be bothered by a nightly patrol unit. By the time they reached it, Ben was pressing his palm against his side attempting to hold back the pain. Caleb wondered briefly if he had made the right decision; while it was painfully clear Ben was still recovering from his physical wounds, it was the nonphysical ones that concerned him more right now.

Ben looked down at the bedding that Caleb had drug out to the campsite. It reminded him of when they were boys. Every summer they had camped out beneath the stars whenever possible. Sometimes Abraham joined them, and even Anna when she could manage to sneak out. Those had been the best of times, and he smiled at the memories that came with them.

He slowly eased himself down onto one of the beds. Caleb grabbed a pillow and wedged it between Ben's back and a nearby log. He groaned as he sunk into the cushion. As much as he hated to admit it, the brief hike had very much agitated his side. It had begun to throb in protest.

"Belly acting up?" Caleb asked softly.

Ben only nodded but did not look at him.

"Thought it might." Caleb said as he sat down cross-legged next to him. He leaned over, pulling out a bottle of Madeira from behind a stack of blankets. "Which is why I brought some of this."

Ben looked at him with a sideways glance but didn't decline. So he uncorked the bottle and held it out. Ben placed the bottle to his lips; he took a healthy sip before handing it back. Caleb smiled, and also took a sip.

…

For awhile he gave Ben his space, knowing full well if he pushed too soon he would surely be met with Ben's hackles, and he preferred not to get stuck. He eventually allowed himself to steal a glance in Ben's direction and saw that his eyes had softened, and his shoulders had gone lax. Still, he continued to wait.

Several drinks later, Ben finally shifted into a more comfortable position. He tilted his head back to stare up at the night sky. Caleb watched as a glimpse of the old Ben came back, the effects of the alcohol slowly bringing down his guard. His cheeks were flush with heat and wine; and he looked more relaxed than he had in a long time. Caleb knew that the time was finally right. He ventured softly.

"What's going on Ben?" He asked.

…

Ben swallowed hard. His mind was fuzzy and warm from all the Madeira. The lack of food in his stomach had only accelerated its affects and he now had a sneaking suspicion that had been Caleb's intent all along. He knew he could not lie; his mind was so dull with alcohol that he couldn't formulate one even if he wanted to. But just because he couldn't lie didn't mean he had to speak the truth.

He took another long sip of Madeira, and his stomach churned, warning him that it had reached its limits. He didn't heed the warning and swallowed rebelliously. Pushing himself to his feet as swiftly as he could manage, he instantly regretted the decision. The earth tilted and he tilted with it, forcing him to grab ahold of Caleb's shoulder to keep from falling flat on his face. He cursed himself for taking that last sip, though the truth was it had probably been several sips before the last one that had pushed him over.

"Easy there Tallboy." Caleb said, rising to his own feet and helping Ben upright. "You don't have to go. I didn't mean anything by it, it's just…" He trailed off.

Ben simply stood in front of him swaying, and saying nothing.

…

'There it is again' Caleb thought to himself, that silence that had recently taken his friend captive. They used to talk about anything and everything. But now that felt like ages ago; he could barely get two words out of him as of late. Caleb looked down at the ground not knowing where to go from here. This clearly wasn't going to work, and he chided himself inwardly for even thinking that it would. Ben swayed dangerously again and Caleb reached out to steady him.

He sighed. "Alright. Let's get you back to your tent."

"I'm no better than Gamble, Caleb." Ben blurted out.

"What?" Caleb asked, a look of pure shock crossing his face.

"I'm…I'm no better than Gamble." Ben mumbled softly, looking down.

"Ben," Caleb said evenly. "What are you talking about?"

Ben sunk to his knees, and Caleb went with him so that they both ended up kneeling in the dirt, facing one another. He reached out to steady Ben, placing both hands on his shoulders to hold him up. He could feel Ben trembling beneath his palms, but he didn't dare say a word. He didn't even breathe; for fear that that if he did Ben would retreat back inside himself once more.

Finally with a shuttering exhale, Ben told him everything. About how he had taken Reverend Worthington's life and the moment that had lead up to it. About Gamble, and Sarah. About how all the lines that he had once believed in were now so very blurry. So much so that he didn't know if he was any better than the enemy anymore and that he doubted God would ever forgive him.

Caleb listened in silence until all of Ben's words had run out. When he was finished he hung his head in shame and grew silent once more.

"Ben." Caleb started quietly.

Ben did not look up.

"The lines, they get messy sometimes, same in war as they do in every day life. But that doesn't mean you're on the wrong side. God looks at the heart, and you've always done what you thought is right. You've never strayed from that. Never!" He emphasized. Cupping the back of Ben's head with his hand, he gently drew him just a little bit closer and lowered his voice. "Listen to me Ben," he continued. "We all loose our way from time to time. But that's what friends are for, to help us find our way back." He paused; his reward was only silence. "You're not alone Tallboy." he firmly stated. "Ya never were."

Ben finally looked up, and searched Caleb's eyes so desperately it caused his heart to ache. In the end he must have found Caleb to be speaking the truth, for he eventually nodded.

Caleb gave him a smile so big it could only be genuine and clasped his hand on Ben's back, pulling him in for their traditional "made it back to camp" embrace before pushing him back again to look Ben in the eye once more.

Seeing remnants of his old friend flickering in the eyes that stared back at him, Caleb's smile turned into a mischievous grin. "Good, then lets celebrate," he exclaimed happily, raising his eyebrows at Ben as he held up what little remained of the Madeira.

…

Ben turned, falling into a seated position next to where Caleb was still kneeling. The already consumed Madeira was threatening to get the best of him.

"I don't know Caleb," His tongue revealing his intoxication with the slightest of slurs. "Anymore of that and I might… He paused as his vision swam and closed his eyes against it. "Might not make it back to camp." He finished with a rushed exhale of air. He was beyond drunk now and he knew it.

"That's the plan Benny boy. That's the plan." Caleb said, removing the cork once more and holding the bottle up for a toast.

"To making it back," Caleb said with a grin, taking a long swig from the bottle before passing it over.

"To friends." Ben replied taking a sip of his own as Caleb raised an imaginary glass.

They sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, for a long while and talked on into the night. The fire cracked and danced in front of them as they spoke of home and days gone by. More of then not, they found themselves in fits of laughter over some memory of one of their boyhood antics. When the stories ran out they soon fell into that old familiar silence.

…

Anna looked out across the camp to the fire glowing in the distance. The laughter had died down and it appeared as if the two might finally be calling it a night. She laughed out loud as Caleb crawled drunkenly to his bedroll and promptly collapsed unceremoniously on top of it. Soon his snoring filled the night. Ben struggled briefly with his own bedding before abandoning the idea of it all together, opting to simply curl up with a pillow instead. He too was soon fast asleep.

With a sigh she set out for their campsite with blankets in tow. Quietly she knelt down, covering each of them with a heavy blanket. Neither one stirred. Looking down at their sleeping forms she shook her head at the disheveled pair. Different in every way they were, and yet the chords of life had forged a bond between them that had become inseparable.

She stood, picking up the bottle of Madeira she stowed it away in the folds of her apron. The last thing they needed was a ranking officer to come across them and a commandeered bottle of wine from supplies. Noting it's emptiness, she sighed, knowing they would certainly regret that tomorrow. But for now, all was right with the world again, and she supposed that was all that mattered.

Stealing one final glance before turning to go, she saw that the shadows that that had plagued Ben's features for the past week were all but gone. The peace that had been absent even in sleep had once again returned, and he slept soundly for perhaps the first time in weeks. The old Ben had finally made his way back again. Quietly she whispered. "Welcome back."

By the light of the dying fire, she saw without opening his eyes he offered her the faintest, sleepy little smile.

…


End file.
